


Dinner at Eight

by siggy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 04:20:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siggy/pseuds/siggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’ll never forget, but can he forgive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner at Eight

~oOo~

 

‘No matter how strong.

I’m going to take you down with one little stone.

I’m going to break you down and see what you’re worth.

What you’re really worth to me.’

\- Rufus Wainwright.

 

~oOo~

 

Small, intimate French restaurants where not him; he was pretty sure they were not her either. Perhaps she was hoping the crisply, starched shirted waiters, who looked like they had a nasty smell under their collective nose, would put him off creating a scene. Actually, he had no clue what she thought, not anymore.

 

Jack looked at his watch. He was early. He beckoned over a waiter, marvelling, as he watched the pompous little man strut to his table, that he could move at all with that stick up his ass.

 

“Sir?” The waiter managed to imbue, in that one syllable, the knowledge that he was far superior to the ignorant plebeian, who was deigning to try and eat in his establishment.

 

Jack suppressed the urge to garrotte the man with his napkin. “Double scotch.”

 

The waiter turned and headed toward the bar. Jack might have to sit in a shirt and tie in this uptight little bistro, but he was damned if he was going to do it sober.

 

He didn’t do too much sober these days, not if he could help it. The scotch made it easier to draw the curtain across the Technicolor film show in his head. Memory could be an absolute fucker without a little lubrication.

 

The waiter returned, and placed Jack’s scotch on the table in front of him. Then walked away before Jack could acknowledge him; not that there was much chance of that. Jack’s eyes were fixed on the glass. He quickly took a long sip of the whiskey, leaning back in his chair as the familiar rush of warmth flooded his chest.

 

He felt a slight draft and looked to the door of the restaurant. There she was. He held his breath as he watched the maitre d’ remove her coat. He gestured to Jack’s table, and she nodded her thanks.

 

Jack thought about standing up as she approached him. Manoeuvring herself, carefully, through the small tables. He thought about it, but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to agree to the idea. His eyes drifted to her legs; long, and clad in beautifully tailored black trousers. He spent a long moment battling a sudden vision of a hotter than Hell planet. For a second, he swore he could smell the sweet metallic odour of fresh blood. His tongue tasted gritty sand and bitter failure. He valiantly blocked out the noise of Carter’s heaving breaths as she tried to ask him about Teal’c…

 

“Hi Jack.”

 

He came back to the present with a gasp. He could feel the dew of perspiration on his upper lip. He finally remembered to be a gentleman, and stood up and looked at the woman he’d been avoiding for over a year. She was looking at him with a guarded smile on her lovely face.

 

“Carter.”

 

The smile left her features and she pulled back the chair opposite his and sat down. Her hand went to her left knee; or at least, he presumed, where her left knee used to be. She pressed on the joint and gave a little sigh of relief.

 

“Do you want a drink?” Jack was finding it hard to think of anything to say.

 

“Sure, I’ll have a lime and soda, thanks.”

 

Jack gestured to one of the waiters and ordered her drink.

 

Silence reigned as they waited for him to return. Jack fiddled with his silverware, while Sam stared at him across the table. It was a blessed relief when the waiter returned with Sam’s drink.

 

“So, Carter what’re you doing these days?” Jack figured it was a safe question, because he already knew what she was doing, Daniel made sure of that.

 

“I’m still at the SGC.” Sam took a sip of her drink. The ice clinked loudly in the glass. “But you know that already, I know Daniel keeps in touch.”

 

Jack shrugged. 

 

“How’s retirement suiting you?”

 

“I fish a lot.” He neglected to mention that he also drank a lot and stared at the walls a great deal more than was strictly advisable.

 

There was another long lull, which was briefly enlivened by a waiter offering menus.

Time was consumed while they perused the selection of dishes and ordered. Jack had become almost fond of the prissy waiter and looked after him longingly as he departed and left Jack to face Sam once more.

 

He heard her take a deep breath and dreaded what was coming.

 

“So, Jack, you don’t write, you don’t call. Have I done something to annoy you?”

 

“Carter…”

 

“You know, the last time you spoke to me, and I had my full compliment of limbs, you called me Sam. A girl could take offence.”

 

Jack could tell she was trying, very hard, to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She wasn’t quite succeeding.

 

“I was going to apologise.” She lowered her eyes to the pristine white table cloth. “I’ve spent this last year wanting to apologise, trying to talk to you, to…” She looked up and him and shrugged. “I wanted to beg for your forgiveness, I suppose…I don’t know.” She was back looking at the table linen again. “I spent all those hours in physio, thinking about what I’d done, about how I’d made you feel.”

 

“Ca…Sam…”

 

“No! You don’t get to have your say just yet” Jack winced at the venom in her voice. He looked around the room. Curious faces were turned in their direction.

 

Sam carried on, either oblivious or she just didn’t care. “All that time, Jack; learning to walk again; getting bone infections and skin lesions from my damn prosthesis; back and forth to the hospital, and all I thought about was how much I’d hurt you.”

 

She looked up at him, and he expected to see tears in her eyes, but there weren’t any. Her blue eyes blazed at him, they burned.

 

“I love Daniel…”

 

Jack’s brain did an emergency stop at the non-sequitur

 

“I was so grateful that he stayed with me at the hospital. He put up with my bitchy whining and tedious bouts of self pity…I love him, but I needed you.”

 

Jack was pretty sure he couldn’t have this conversation. Oh, he’d agreed to this meeting thinking he that could, but he’d been kidding himself. He’d agreed because he’d just missed her so damn much.

 

“Look, Carter, I can’t do this.” He started to get up.

 

“Yes, you damn well can.” Sam spoke quietly, but through gritted teeth. “You’ll sit your ass back on that chair and hear me out. You owe me that, Jack.

 

Jack found himself sat back in his chair. Jesus that woman could be scary. He finished off his scotch, and waved his empty glass at Monsieur tight ass. Another drink was placed before him; Jack drank nearly half of it before the little Napoleon had sauntered back to his station. He took a deep breath and managed to make eye contact with Sam.

 

“How much of that do you drink a day?” Her eyes flicked to the glass in his hand.

 

“Enough. What are you now, Carter, my therapist?” He didn’t mean to be so harsh but he was frightened.

 

“No, I’m pretty much the same as I ever was, I just miss my friends.”

 

Jack’s anger leaked out through the pours of his skin as if he were an old, dusty balloon; Carter always had the ability to do that to him. “Yeah, me too.”

 

“Ry’ac still visits sometimes.”

 

Sam seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, he wasn’t sure what. “Yeah?”

 

She nodded. “He asks about you, I never know what to tell him.”

 

Jack couldn’t help. He didn’t know what she could tell him either.

 

The silence hung like low cloud, dark and oppressive.

 

“I did what I thought was right at the time, Jack, and I’m sorry, but if I could go back in time, I’d do it again.”

 

Her words were soft and sad. They shouldn’t have had the force, the power to take him back to the place he worked very hard not to think about, but they did…

 

Suddenly, it was as though another reality had transposed itself over the one he currently inhabited. A ghostly image of a dune covered landscape, replete with hot, dry, faintly spicy air. He could feel his pack bouncing on his back as he ran. His knee ached like a bitch. Over the panting breaths of his companions, he could hear the clank of Jaffa armour. Their symbiotes’ gave them a distinct advantage when it came to long distance running.

 

The Stargate shimmered and sparkled in the distance, like some holy thing.

 

The smell of prawns intruded, and he saw his buddy the waiter, standing on the sand in front of him, holding a silver tray with two seafood cocktails. He could hear someone far, far away, giggling slightly manically. Carter’s voice hissed “Go away.” The waiter disappeared, and the deep, ochre sand was once again pristine.

 

“We’re not going to make it.” He heard Daniel gasp. He looked back to see his friend sweating and stumbling in the soft sand. He was struggling, it was no surprise, seeing as it was only recently he’d returned to corporeal form, and wasn’t really up to combat fitness. He saw Carter grab Daniel’s elbow to steady him, then she ran beside him, pushing him forward with her hand on the back of his pack.

 

Teal’c covered their six. The pursuing Jaffa were not quite in range, but it was only a matter of minutes, they’d been steadily gaining over the last seven miles. If only there had been some cover, but there was nothing, not a fucking thing.

 

He felt a warm hand on his forearm he looked down, her pale hand was clutching the sleeve of his white shirt. She was saying his name, repeating it over and over, like a mantra. The sudden screech of approaching death gliders drowned her out.

 

A staff blast hit the ground at his feet. The pursuing Jaffa were now in firing range.

 

Carter’s voice reached him. She was telling Daniel to “keep running”. He looked back to see her join Teal’c in returning fire. He took her place beside Daniel, and put his own hand on the back of the younger man’s pack, pushing him along, telling him to “be ready to dial home.”

 

Then he was air born. He could feel the air pressure from the death glider’s blast pressing against his back, supplying uplift and forward motion. The sand wasn’t so soft when he made landfall. It felt like concrete. 

 

Jack felt a warm hand on his face, he recognised Sam’s touch. She was still saying his name, “Jack, Jack, Jack,”

 

“Jack!”

 

Daniel was crouched in front of him. His sweaty face was streaked with sand and blood from nick above his eyebrow. He’d lost his glasses.

 

“Jack, you with me?”

 

“Yeah.” He could barely hear himself speak. His ears were ringing like church bells on a Sunday morning.

 

“Jack, Sam’s hurt.”

 

Jack struggled to his knees, and looked over his shoulder. Hurt was an understatement.

 

“Christ, Jesus Christ.” He crawled over to where she lay. She wasn’t moving. He put shaking fingers to her throat; her pulse juddered weakly. There was a lake of blood underneath her, he was kneeling in it. He could feel it soaking through to his skin. It was oddly cool in contrast to the baking sand. From her upper thigh, her left leg was attached only by stringy tendons and shredded blue, red flesh. He could see shattered bone jutting out through the ruined fabric of her pant leg. He couldn’t breathe. There was not enough air in the world to fill his lungs.

 

He was looking down at her, but he could still feel her hand on his face; it was confusing the shit out of him.

 

“Jack, it’s Teal’c.”

 

He looked over to where Daniel was kneeling. At first he couldn’t make out what he was looking at, but then he knew. He looked away. He really did not want to remember him like that, but it was too late. That pile of wet, dead flesh would be forever etched over any memory he would ever have of his friend.

 

“Jack we have to move, now!”

 

Jack wished Daniel would just shut the fuck up. Every time the man opened his mouth it was bad news. Jack’s head pounded, he still couldn’t get any air.

 

A rasping moan came from Sam. She was awake. He didn’t know how, but she was looking at him, with real comprehension.

 

“T…Te…?” She gasped for breath. Her chest laboured to suck in the hot, dry air.

 

“He’s gone.” Jack heard himself say

 

Gone, what the fuck did that mean? It sounded like he was saying that the big Jaffa had merely taken a stroll. Dead, he was so fucking dead it was almost funny. In fact he could hear that loony giggling again; who the hell was that?

 

Maybe it was the waiter who’d come back. He didn’t look happy though. He kept muttering something about doctors and ambulances; there was no way they were going to get an ambulance to come all the way out here, the idiot. How far away did Sam say this rock was away from Earth? Seventy thousand light years, wasn’t it? Dream on Napoleon.

 

He didn’t know what to do with her leg, there was no way he could dress it. The wound was huge. He had no time or kit to deal with an injury of this magnitude. He quickly dug in his pack and pulled out the morphine. He stuck the needle in her right hip.

 

“Jack, they’re coming back.” Daniel was pointing at the sky.

 

Jack could see the death gliders banking for a rerun.

 

He looked back down at Sam.

 

“Go.” It was the most emphatic whisper he had ever heard.

 

“Sam, I’m going to lift you up. It’s gonna hurt.” He hoped he sounded confident. He wasn’t sure if he could lift her at all. His chest burned, and the world looked oddly askew.

 

“Ple…please…go.”

 

She was such a damn fatalist. It always pissed him off when she did this.

 

He looked over to Daniel who to his surprise had been firing at the rapidly approaching Jaffa. Jack hadn’t even heard the shots.

 

“Daniel, I need your help.”

 

He looked back at Sam, and his universe collapsed. She had the barrel of her sidearm, jammed against the side of her head. Her eyes were on him and he could see she was sorry…so sorry.

 

He hit her with his closed fist. He didn’t think he did it to stop her pulling the trigger; he thought he might have done it because he was so fucking angry at her for giving up, and for reminding him that he has failed again. He’d failed his son and now he’d failed her, and she’d wasted no time in letting him know.

 

The adrenalin of fury made him strong. He staggered to his feet. Fuck air, he didn’t need it. He wobbled as he heaved her limp, bloody body over his shoulder. The pain in his head was such that the periphery of his vision had started to grey.

 

“Daniel, move.” Jack’s teeth ground bits of sand between them, as his face took on a rictus of effort. He found out why breathing had become such an issue, as the bones in his chest shifted and scraped against his soft inner organs.

 

There was only noise and heat and the feeling of her blood soaking through his shirt. Noise, heat, blood…blood…

 

“Jack, goddammit. Come on.”

 

He felt a patting sensation on his cheek, but he couldn’t find the air or the energy to slap it away.

 

“Jack, you’re scaring the hell out of me, snap out of it.”

 

Sweat was running into his eyes making them sting. The cheek patting was starting to really piss him off.

 

“Jack, breathe slowly. Come on, listen to me; take a slow breath. Come back to me now.”

 

“Will you stop patting me?” He barely recognised his own cracked voice.

 

He heard her make a tiny sobbing noise, a little as though she was laughing and crying the same time.

 

“Jack? Are you with me?”

 

He sucked in a lungful of air. It didn’t hurt and it wasn’t hot. In fact it smelled like garlic.

 

“Have I just made a monumental ass of myself?” He quickly glanced around the restaurant, unspeakably grateful not to see any sand, but he did notice the way the rest of the patrons were working really hard not to look at him.

 

“Yeah, but that’s nothing new.”

 

Sam had scooted her chair closer to his and their legs were touching. As he waited while he got his breathing under control, he could feel the hard, unyielding alloy of her prosthesis against his thigh.

 

“Does it hurt?” He gently touched the material of the trousers that hid the lack of a limb.

 

“Sometimes, it depends what I’m doing,” she said distractedly. “Are you feeling better?”

 

Jack nodded. “I’m still angry at you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You gave up.”

 

“It didn’t feel that way to me.”

 

Jack looked into her eyes. She wasn’t apologising, but she did understand.

 

She smiled sadly at him. “I wanted you and Daniel to live. That’s all. I believed there was no chance for me and no chance for you if you didn’t leave me behind.”

 

“You’d have been right. We just got lucky.” Jack took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips. “I was so angry, Sam. I hated you for a good six months. Then I hated myself. I prefer hating you; it’s a lot easier on my liver.”

 

Sam smiled at him. It wasn’t one of those full beam smiles that he loved, but it was a smile without sadness or regret and it was all his.

 

“I tell you what, Jack. How about we leave the waiter a nice big tip, even though he is a pompous little twit, and you can come over to my place and hate me in private?”

 

Jack hesitated a little. He was scared to be suddenly so close to the one person left in his life with the power to really hurt him.

 

“I’ll show you my stump,” she said, teasingly.

 

Jack looked at her, and saw, that despite her bravado, she was just as frightened as him. It was all there, in her luminous blue eyes. With one look, she’d opened herself to him. He could hurt her now, if he wanted.

 

He took a deep cleansing breath. “Sam, are you flirting with me?”

 

There it was; that smile, all teeth and eyes.

 

“Yes, Jack. I believe I am.”

 

 

The end.


End file.
